


Blurred Crusade

by Eriador117



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Crossdressing, Hermaphrodites, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriador117/pseuds/Eriador117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge: The History Challenge at the Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest<br/>Summary: Severus, Earl of Snape, retired soldier of the 3rd Crusade, never intended to marry. King John had other plans for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Crusade

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story takes place in Britain during the Middle Ages, at that time there was no concept of age of consent and young marriages were quite common. Harry is sixteen in this fic, which would have been considered quite late to get married in those times. Beta'd by Rakina, thanks so much!
> 
> warnings for mentions of child abuse.

**Blurred Crusade**

 

Lily had always had a flair for drama, so it shouldn't really have surprised anyone that just before her wedding ceremony to Duke Vernon of Dursley, Lily ran off with the minstrel who was supposed to be providing entertainment for the wedding feast. It didn't surprise Petunia in the least; it was just the sort of thing Lily would do. What did surprise her were her parents offering her to Duke Vernon in exchange, like a consolation prize.

Even more surprising than that was the fact that Vernon had agreed, although Petunia was almost sure that her parents offering the duke both Lily and Petunia's bride prices was the main reason he so readily accepted. Petunia knew she was plain; Lily was the beautiful one, their parents' favourite, despite shaming the d'Evans family so publicly. Petunia knew no one would have been marrying her for her looks.

Before that awful day, when she'd been forced to marry in her sister's stead, she had held onto a slim hope of entering a nunnery, for Petunia could not abide the company of men. Those few she knew – her father's men-at-arms, the visitors to the manor – were all coarse boors who drank too much and went whoring whenever the mood struck them, preying on the servant girls and even some of the prettier boys. At least her status as the Earl's daughter saved her from that fate.

She hadn't wanted to marry Vernon, she hadn't wanted to marry at all, but she was at the whim of her father and could do nothing to prevent it. Until wed she was her father's property and once wed she would become her husband's. Just once she wished she could be her own person, without having to please anyone else.

She hated Lily for running off like that and leaving Petunia to suffer instead. And how she suffered: Vernon was as boorish as the soldiers. He was brutal, taking his pleasure from her whenever he wished, with no regard to her wishes at all. No one had told her what would happen on their wedding night and he had not been gentle, having no care at all that she was inexperienced and may have liked to be wooed beforehand. She had sobbed and screamed throughout the whole ordeal, fearing she was going to die beneath the fat brute on top of her, inside her.

Her mother and some of the female wedding guests had entered the bedchamber the next morning, noting the bloodied sheet with undisguised glee, before stripping the bed and displaying it in the Great Hall where all the guests could see it. At least she hadn't shamed her family name, but they still preferred Lily over her and she would never forgive her sister for being the favourite despite what Petunia had endured for the family.

It was Lily's fault that she had to suffer these unwanted attentions from her husband. Gone were her dreams of living a life of contemplation and prayer; Lily had torn Petunia's dreams away and left her with the nightmare that was Duke Vernon.

It was almost a year after they'd wed before she finally quickened with child. Petunia used the excuse of her pregnancy to avoid her husband's nightly visits, telling him that it might harm the baby. Since he was so keen on having an heir, he left her alone, although the midwife had assured her that things were fine and she did not have to cut off relations with her husband. Petunia had told him nothing of this; she didn't balk at lying to the man to gain herself a temporary reprieve.

Vernon took his tastes elsewhere, she noticed the serving girls were sporting bruises and the haunted look she normally had, but she could not feel any sympathy for them, not when it meant that Vernon was bothering them rather than her.

It had been just over a year since Dudley, the son and heir of the Dursley estates, had been born and Petunia could not miss the hungry looks Vernon had been giving her these past few weeks. She knew it wouldn't be long before Vernon insisted on his rights again and she dreaded that day.

At high summer, the day before Lammas, Lily entered their lives again.

Summer thunder rumbled overhead, lightning sparked outside, but neither did anything to clear the air of the oppressive heat. They were all at table, entertaining Prince Sirius no less. He was a distant cousin of King Richard and technically, he wasn't really a prince for he had no land and no title, but he was a favourite of the king's and Vernon was very keen to hoist himself up in the world. It was a difficult juggling act; for the Lionheart had not returned from his latest crusade and his brother Prince John was in charge in his stead. Vernon had to try to keep both John and Sirius happy, not an easy task for the two men detested each other.

Just as the sweets were being served, Lily – dressed in rags, red hair so dark with blood and filth that it was impossible to imagine that she was ever thought beautiful – stumbled into the Great Hall. Petunia clasped a hand over her mouth and tried not to shriek. The scandal of her sister absconding and Petunia's own subsequent marriage to the duke had all but died down, but now here Lily was like a ghost back from the dead. Petunia realised things would have been much better if her sister had died.

Lily's shame was visible for everyone to see in the swollen belly and lack of a wedding ring upon her hand.

Vernon turned purple with rage and Petunia did not look forward to spending the evening with him in this state. He pounded his meaty fist on the table and snapped at the captain of the guards, who was doing taster duty for Sirius behind the prince's chair.

"Remove this strumpet from my sight!" roared Vernon.

"Brother! Sister, please," begged Lily as her hands flew to her abdomen and she sank on one knee to the floor. Her breathing was laboured and loud in the silence from the assembled guests. Her hair was uncovered, her face streaked with tears and her gown so soaked with blood it was difficult to discern what colour it had once been. Petunia had no sympathy for her, despite knowing her sister was in travail and the babe was as likely to be born on the floor of the Hall as anywhere else.

The fresh rushes which had been set down that day before the prince arrived were becoming dirtier by the moment.

"Who is she?" demanded the prince as he glared at both his host and his duchess.

"She is dead to us," snarled Vernon and refused to say any more.

"This is the woman who ran off instead of marrying you?" Prince Sirius sounded both shocked and amused. "Lady Petunia, is there a midwife in the village?"

"There is, your grace," she said, afraid to lie to the man.

"Send for her at once and take your sister somewhere for her confinement, she cannot give birth here," ordered the prince and Petunia knew she had no choice but to obey. No one disobeyed the prince unless they didn't have a very firm attachment to their head remaining on their shoulders.

Petunia gathered up a few of her ladies; she refused to touch Lily, her maids helped Lily from the floor and led her out of the Great Hall, her screams echoing off the stone walls.

"My lady, where shall we take her?" asked Ailith, one of the prettier maids. She had long blonde hair pinned beneath her veil and there was a bruise fading on her cheek. And at long last Petunia thought of the perfect revenge she could have on Vernon for all that he'd done to her, done to these women over the months she'd been at Dursley Castle.

"Take her to the Duke's bedchamber," said Petunia with a smirk.

Ailith and the others gaped at her. "The Duke's chamber? Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. I'm very sure," said Petunia as she imagined the blood and the mess all over her husband's giant bed.

Lily screamed and sagged against the women holding her; it was an effort to get her up the stairs to the upper floors and Vernon's private chambers but they managed fine without Petunia's help. They had barely settled Lily on the pillows before someone knocked on the door. Ailith went to answer it; Petunia could see the prince's chaplain, Father Remus, over the maid's shoulder. Had he followed them? How did he know they would take Lily to Vernon's rooms?

"The midwife is here," said Father Remus.

"Thank you, Father," said Ailith as she pulled the door aside and allowed the woman with him to enter the room. Once the midwife was inside, the maid shut the door, as no men were allowed in the birthing chamber during the actual birth. Petunia stared at the midwife. Dame Poppy was the woman who had delivered Dudley, but they were not friends. Poppy was so far down the social ladder that it was all Petunia could do not to have her escorted from the room and set well beyond the castle boundaries.

Poppy had a bundle of rags hanging over one shoulder; she pulled it forward, opened it and settled the contents down on the bed next to Lily, who was now alternating between panting and screaming as the pains tore through her. Petunia was reminded by the many sermons of the priest at Dursley's chapel; that women suffered in childbirth because of the sin of Eve.

Her sister was a sinner of the worst sort: a fornicator who'd bedded a man before marriage and she deserved to suffer. Petunia smirked down at her wailing sister.

Poppy sorted through the herbs now scattered along the bed. "We need hot water," she said to no one in particular and one of the serving girls went off to fetch it. Poppy stared round at the other women gathered in the room, at their braids and covered hair. "Unbraid your hair, all of you," she commanded and the serving girls obeyed at once, so used to obeying orders, wherever they came from.

Petunia's hands stayed where they were and went nowhere near her hair. "That's just superstitious nonsense," she said, referring to the custom of women attending a birth having to have their hair loose, in case anything knotted in the room caused the baby's cord to knot around its throat too.

Maybe, Petunia thought later, if she'd obeyed the midwife, things might not have turned out as disastrously as they did.

***

Petunia stared at the squalling infant in the midwife's arms, the dead body of her sister lay draped with a bloodied sheet and she felt as if her whole world was falling apart. She was the creature's aunt, its only living relative, but she did not want the care of this ... this unnatural thing. Merciful Mother of God, it was so ugly! So grotesque, how was she expected to care for such a creature? But she knew it would be expected of her. Lily's paramour had died a few weeks before, Petunia was the only one left of its blood. But how could someone with her blood have created such an obscenity?

"Maybe we should let it die," said one of the girls. "It might be a mercy for the poor thing."

Poppy cradled the infant against her chest, trying to soothe its crying, but it was hungry and it had been over two months since Dudley's wet nurse had weaned the boy onto solids. There was no one in the castle giving milk at the moment. Would it survive on cow's milk? Or milk from one of the ewes? And was she really considering taking care of this ... this _thing_?

"What shall we do?" asked Ailith as she allowed the baby to suckle on one of her fingers.

"There's a woman in the village, just had a baby boy a few months ago – Molly. I'm sure she wouldn't mind becoming a wet nurse for this wee boy here too," said Poppy.

"Boy?" said Petunia scathingly, as she and the others stared hard at the baby, especially between its legs, where it was hard to tell whether they were actually looking at a boy or a girl. Behind the small penis and testicles, there was a slit too, nothing so defined as a vagina, but it wasn't normal for a boy. The sight of it was abhorrent to Petunia. She already had a son; Vernon had his heir and they did not need another boy around the castle to take attention away from Dudley.

"No, it's a girl," she said confidently. "Harriet. Harriet."

She dared any of them to disagree with her, and none of them did.

***

Chapter Two  
Scotland  
Sixteen Years Later

Severus woke up sweating; as always when he woke, the first thing he did was stare at his hands. The blood was long gone, but not the memory of it. Not the memory of those screams as he plunged his sword in again and again. The memory of the children's faces, the women's as he murdered their husbands, brothers and sons right in front of them. The wailing, oh God, the wailing as they tore at their clothes in their grief. Richard had promised them seats in Heaven if he followed him on his crusade to free Jerusalem from the Saracens; instead they'd followed him to hell. Most hadn't made it much further than Cyprus; heat and the flux doing for them before they even saw a Saracen.

Despite the blood and the death; the heat and the flies in the Holy Land; it was Cyprus that Severus remembered most. Remembered the pain in his heart as he watched his King marry Princess Berengaria while he pretended to be happy for them. Remembered too how three days later, Richard sought him out and promised that nothing would change between them and tried to kiss him, but Severus wouldn't allow it. Richard was married now and nothing would ever be the same between them again.

The bells were ringing, what was it now? He could barely keep track of them; sunlight was streaming in through the small window embrasure of his cell, so he thought it must have been a bit later than Matins or Lauds.

When he returned to England after Richard's death, he'd been arrested on the orders of the new King John. The soldiers had spat at him, "Do you think we don't know? That you were Richard's catamite?"

Severus had thought he would be executed, he was fully expecting a noose around his neck, but John had other plans for him. An earl could not be executed without due process of the law and John had no wish for his brother's indiscretions to become public knowledge, so Severus wasn't executed. Instead he was banished to Scotland, to the small monastery of Hogwarts under the care of Abbot Mungo. Named for the seventh century saint, famous for his healing skills; Mungo was a friendly-faced, rotund man and his monastery was well renowned for both the healing skills of the brothers there and their manuscript work. Severus liked him on sight, but no matter how many times the abbot had a little talk with him, Severus could not agree to the King's wishes.

They expected him to become a monk – to dedicate his life to prayer and forgiveness, to give up the world – but he refused to take vows. He became a lay brother and wore the same brown habit as the monks. He helped them in the infirmary, the scriptorium and on the small farm, but he did not attend chapel or prayers. His faith had been ripped from him with swords and blood and the peace of a Scottish monastery was not enough to purge the nightmares or to win him back to God.

Someone pounded on the door; a frantic knocking that was giving him a headache.

"Brother Severus! Brother Severus!" the high-pitched, excited voice of one of the novices called and Severus slowly slung his legs out of the bed. He opened the door still in his nightshirt and the young man blushed and looked down at his feet.

"Yes?" Severus snapped, annoyed that they still kept calling him _Brother_ ; even though everyone in the whole place knew he wasn't a monk, and would never be a monk.

"The abbot wants to see you, Brother," said the novice. What was his name again? Neville? Yes, that was it. "He's got a letter. From the King."

"From King William?" queried Severus, wondering what the King of Scotland would want with him, he'd only met the man once, at one of his father's many banquets when Severus had been seventeen. What he remembered most about that banquet, was that he'd lost his virginity to one of William's men-at-arms in the hayloft. He'd confessed his sin the next day to his father's chaplain, but already he had been wondering when he might get the chance to do it again.

"No, from King John."

***

Severus arched his back on the high stool. The light was already fading and he knew he wouldn't be able to do much more this evening. He had never worked with such materials before and he enjoyed the work. Instead of the more common calf-skin vellum, Hogwarts used their own kid-skin vellum, tanning it and scraping the hairs off with sharp knives. That was one thing that Severus refused to do, he would never touch a knife or a sword again. He didn't even possess an eating knife and just ate with his fingers or a spoon.

He put down his goose-feather quill; was that a smudge? He squinted at the page he'd been working on and resolved to ask one of the novices to sharpen it after dinner, but then his heart faltered to a stop in his chest. It wouldn't matter; he wouldn't be here tomorrow. It was two weeks since Abbot Mungo had told Severus about that letter and tomorrow King John would be arriving to take Severus back to England. It had been years since Severus was in his homeland. The Snape estates had been confiscated, of course. John used any excuse to get more land, the nickname of _Lackland_ still rankled the King even in the years after his brother's death. As a wedding gift, Severus would receive half of them back along with the manor house.

The King had finally decided on a suitable punishment for what he'd called his brother's whore. He was making him get married. Severus had never been with a woman at all; he'd had plenty of opportunity; there were always opportunities if you knew where to look and for soldiers on a Holy Crusade, the chaplains turned a blind eye as long as they confessed the next day and went into battle shriven. Wenching was just considered part of a man's life before he settled down and got married.

When the chaplain caught Severus with Richard, however, that was another matter. Severus was urged to confess his sin all right, his unnaturalness, but he was forced to do it in public. The name of his lover was never mentioned, and Severus felt upset that Richard hadn't defended him, hadn't insisted that the priests leave him alone. It was then that Severus realised this wasn't the first time the priests had caught Richard with another man; they had come to expect it, almost. They made an example out of the men Richard had been with, not the King himself. The King could get away with it; he was the King. Severus had just been a minor earl's son, expendable, and for a while it looked like he might be murdered by the soldiers before they ever saw the enemy for what they saw as his _corruption_ of the King.

It didn't matter that it had been Richard doing the seducing – not that Severus needed much seduction, for he had desired the King as soon as he'd first laid eyes on him and could hardly believe that this handsome, rugged warrior had wanted to bed him.

Severus gathered up his inks and quills, dusting his latest page with sand so the ink wouldn't run and made his way to the refectory for dinner. He was late again, but Brother William had a soft spot for him and always kept a bowl waiting for him no matter what time he arrived. With his red hair and freckles, Severus was reminded of a younger version of Richard and if William hadn't been a monk and so obviously one for the ladies (Severus had noticed him looking when any young woman had occasion to visit the monastery), he might have considered pursuing him.

Severus sighed as he pushed the door open. It was a moot point now. The King wanted him to get married and you obeyed the King unless you really wanted to hang from a gibbet. He just hoped the girl they'd chosen for him was not some simpering idiot who thought of nothing but embroidery and gossip. He'd had enough of gossip to last him a lifetime.

***

"Harriet! Harriet! Where is that accursed child?" screamed Petunia, her skirts gathered up out of the way as she tried to avoid the chickens littering the yard and scrabbling about for seed.

Harry did his best to ignore his aunt; the others had already beaten him bloody today and he did not want another round from his aunt or his uncle. His arm ached and was lying at an awkward angle, he thought it might be broken again and he couldn't stop a small whimper of pain from emerging from his closed lips. And still his aunt called him that name, that hateful female name as Harry cringed against the cart.

With hearing almost as sharp as his uncle's falcons, Petunia whirled around and saw him curled up in a corner next to the hay cart. Petunia turned round to castigate the village children who were laughing and giggling at the freak.

Harry knew he was a freak, he was cursed, he was a devil child. It's what they all called him, from his guardians downwards. The only ones who hadn't were Dame Molly who had been his nurse and her family, but it had been years since his aunt and uncle had banished them from the manor. Harry had a friend once – Molly's son, Ron – but his aunt soon put a stop to that. He wasn't supposed to have friends, according to his aunt, he was being punished for being so freaky, so unnatural.

When the crops failed, they blamed Harry, convinced that he'd worked some sorcery and ruined the fields. He must have some sort of evil magic within him, for whoever heard of a boy with girl parts too? Harry started crying again as the memories of all the taunts, all the slights, all the beatings he'd endured over the years settled in his stomach like one of Cook's inedible honeycakes.

"Stop snivelling, girl!" scolded Aunt Petunia. "Or I'll really give you something to cry about! And you," Petunia rounded on the children and some of the older youngsters. "What are you doing breaking her arm when she's about to get married in the morning! Don't you want her gone from here?"

"I'm a boy!" screamed Harry and they all laughed at him. Him with his fine, long hair and skirts. Petunia clipped him round the ear.

"Don't you ever, ever let me hear you calling yourself a boy again! You are a girl, Harriet and you are going to get married!"

"I won't! You can't make me! No one would want to marry a freak like me anyway!"

"Do not be a fool, girl! Of course they don't know you are a freak and no one is going to tell them, is that clear?" Petunia's eyes raked the gathered crowd and everyone nodded. Of course they wouldn't reveal Harry's awful secret; they wanted the freak gone from Dursley and if marrying him off was going to do it, then they wouldn't interfere.

Harry felt sick, his arm was still hurting and he thought he might pass out.

"You, boy!" Petunia pointed to one of the grubbier children.

He was about eight years old and enjoyed pulling up Harry's skirts so everyone could see what an abomination he was. They'd held Harry down so many times, poking and prodding at that little slit, hurting him each time they did it.

"Fetch Dame Poppy from the village." Petunia never offered him money or a treat for errands. She did not believe in charity unless a priest was standing right next to her and then she couldn't have been more generous.

The boy dashed off anyway, Harry guessed they were all keen to see him gone and Harry wouldn't be sorry to leave the manor where, for as long as he could remember, he was berated and in pain. He just hoped that his new husband wouldn't beat him when he found out what a terrible freak he was. He knew his husband would be within his rights to beat him, but he'd had enough and he didn't think he could bear that. Harry knew what he would do if his husband beat him, he was beyond caring that it was a mortal sin. He would rather take his own life than suffer years and years of beatings any longer.

***

Chapter Three

"Ailith! Ailith!" screeched Petunia as she tried to yank a comb through Harry's unruly hair.

The maid bustled in and took the comb from her. Harry relaxed; Ailith was gentler than Aunt Petunia and knew how to untangle Harry's hair without pulling it out by the roots. Petunia stood behind both of them, staring at Harry in the looking- glass. Harry's arm was still sore, but Dame Poppy said it wasn't broken, just sprained and had given Harry a herbal concoction that tasted foul but did help ease the pain somewhat.

Petunia's eyes sought out his in the mirror. It was only because they were standing so close together that Harry even knew it was his aunt. He had never been able to see very well, everything always looked a bit blurry.

"Martha!" called Petunia. "Fetch my blue silk, we might have to take it in a bit, but it should do for the wedding."

Harry almost choked. Petunia was going to give him one of her gowns? Harry's clothes were always the poorest ones that his relatives could get away with. When his godfather, Prince Sirius, had wanted to know why Harry wasn't dressed in all the finery he had sent as a gift, Harry had no idea what to tell him. He had never received any of the new clothes. Petunia had hauled Harry away and told the prince that he was a bit of a hoyden and was forever climbing trees and getting into fights with the other children, so it didn't make sense for him to be ruining his good clothes. "We keep them for Holy Days," said Petunia, and Sirius had seemed satisfied with that.

He'd seemed quite amused that Harry was climbing trees and fighting. "But you can't do it all the time, Harriet. You're a young lady, you'll be getting married soon and I'm not sure your husband would like you climbing trees!"

Harry always bristled at the comments. Why could no one see that he was a boy? A boy. A boy with a prick, as he'd overheard the men-at-arms calling it when they were trying to bed the serving girls. Harry hadn't been interested in the serving girls, he much preferred spending time with men but because he was considered a girl, he was always chaperoned and could never get one alone to ask them any questions. Like why did his prick get hard and sore sometimes? Why did he make his bedclothes messy and get a beating from Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon because of it?

Harry was torn out of his reverie by Martha arriving with the blue silk gown, along with a coronet of flowers for his hair.

Ailith ran the brush through Harry's hair one last time and stood back to admire her charge. "You look beautiful, Harriet," she said, trailing her fingers through Harry's hair. "He's a lucky man."

"Lucky?" scoffed Petunia. "I'll say! Do you know how much we had to pay as a dowry for you? Both to this Earl of Snape and the King! You'll be the ruin of us, you will! You ungrateful brat!"

Harry hunched on the stool, instinctively making himself a smaller target, but it seemed his aunt's rage had burned itself out.

"Get her dressed, then," snapped Petunia as she made her way out.

Martha was staring at Harry as if he had two heads. Harry didn't want Martha anywhere near him, she was vicious and spiteful and Harry could well remember all the punches, all the kicks he'd ever had from his aunt's maid.

"You go, I'll get Harriet ready," said Ailith as she lifted up the gown. Martha didn't need to be told twice and she scurried out of the room, slamming it behind her as if to show her feelings for the freak contained inside it.

Harry was shaking almost as soon as the other girl had left, but not because of Martha. What was he going to do when his husband discovered what a freak he was? Would he be cast out? Would his husband send a petition to the Pope, accusing Harry of tricking him in order to get wed?

"Have you seen him?" asked Harry instead, for no one would allow the two of them to meet until the ceremony. Petunia didn't want Harry to have one of his funny turns of conscience and blurt out to the man how abnormal he was, something Harry was very likely to do. It felt wrong to be tricking the man, even though he didn't know him. "What's he like?"

Ailith lifted up the gown and draped it over Harry's body. It was a little loose, but then Harry had always been on the thin side; being fed on leftovers would do that. "Well, I wouldn't say he was handsome, the Earl of Snape," she said. "Not exactly. But he was in the Crusades, so he is brave. He has - presence - I suppose you'd call it, people are drawn to him, but he doesn't seem very friendly with them."

"Is he shy?" asked Harry as Ailith settled the crown of flowers on Harry's dark hair. Harry scowled at his reflection in the looking-glass. He looked too much like a girl and he hated it. He wanted to rip the gown from his body and throw it down the privy chute.

"I wouldn't say shy, not exactly that either," said Ailith. "It's more like he doesn't have time for fools and currying favour and all of that. He's with the King, but he isn't fawning over him like your uncle does. Snape knows his place and doesn't seem to want anything more. Harriet, have they told you? He's older than you."

"I guessed, Uncle Vernon wouldn't want me married to someone my own age."

"Whyever not?"

"Because then I might actually enjoy being married."

***

Severus waited nervously by the church porch. He had yet to see his bride-to-be even though he'd been at the castle for almost two days now. There were hushed whispers whenever he walked past and he had the feeling that something was being held back. Why wouldn't they let him meet her before the ceremony? Was the girl horribly disfigured or something? He'd seen a lot of horrors during wartime; he felt as if very little could shock him and he would not have minded if the girl was plain or disfigured as he knew he was no great catch himself. Severus could be honest with himself, he was downright ugly and he often wondered if that's what had made him turn to men in the first place, rather than women. Men understood the body's needs and weren't too worried about the face attached to the body; women were like a different species altogether.

The crowd standing around the church doorway suddenly parted in two and Severus saw the girl being led down the newly-created path on her uncle's arm. He gasped in surprise; as he understood such things the girl was in fact quite pretty. She had the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, although after a brief glimpse at him, they were looking at the ground and not at him. Her face was flushed, her hands trembling as she held the bouquet of flowers in front of her. Thick, black hair tumbled down her back. It was so lustrous and he wanted nothing better than to run his hands though those waves of jet. That hair just begged to be touched.

The bishop coughed as Harriet and her uncle neared the porch. Severus would never have credited it, but here he was, actually looking forward to getting married. John's punishment was turning out to be anything but.

***

Chapter Four

The girl, Harriet, his new bride, was very quiet at the wedding feast after the ceremony and Nuptial mass. Severus hadn't stepped foot inside a church since his return from the Holy Land some years ago and never would he have thought that the next time he entered he would be married. He said the vows, said the prayers, but only because John was there listening to every word.

"Would you like some more mead?" asked Severus as he lifted the jug from the table before a page could get to it. The girl shook her head.

"No thank you, my lord," she said almost in a whisper.

At least she wasn't a giggling gossip, but once they were in private he would have to speak to her about being so formal with him. He wasn't her father or her overlord. Thinking of privacy had him thinking of the bedding ceremony too; he liked the girl, but he didn't desire her. He had never desired any female and he pulled a few slices of chicken towards him as he debated how best to save the girl's honour, for the guests would be expecting a bloodied sheet in the morning.

At long last the minstrels had finished, the jugglers and acrobats had headed off and the drunken guests were making their way to various chambers. As the torches round the walls were lit and the sunlight faded, one of the serving women stood in front of him and curtsied.

"If it please you, my lord, I have been instructed to show you to your wedding chambers."

Severus risked a glance at Harriet; she was almost as pale as the coif the serving girl wore. "Harriet? Are you ready to retire?"

"If it please you, my lord," she said, not looking at him.

Severus had no sisters, his mother had died when he was very young and his father had no patience for women; there had been no female servants at Snape Castle while he was growing up. The first time he came into contact with girls was when he'd been sent to the Earl of Gloucester for fostering, but even then Severus hadn't spent much time among the women. He was being trained for war and had never really thought that much about the female of the species.

Was this normal behaviour for a bride? This almost stifling shyness? Maybe she was worried about what might happen on the wedding night? Well, he'd soon put her right on that score once they were alone, for Severus had no desire to bed her, pretty though his new wife might be.

The serving girl led them to a smaller part of Dursley Castle; here there were no tapestries on the walls to guard against chill and his new bride shivered. At the end of a long corridor, a group of people were gathered round a stout wooden doorway, King John and the bishop who'd performed the Nuptial mass among them.

Severus tried not to falter, but he knew as soon as he saw the King and the bishop that whether he desired the girl or not, they were going to have to attempt the bedding ceremony. It was rare, but not unheard of, that for marriages of particular political influence, the bedding ceremony was actually witnessed as having taken place so that an annulment could not be sought on the grounds of non-consummation.

Harriet's guardians were there. The aunt had the look of someone who found no joy in anything, not even her niece's wedding day. The uncle was blustering, trying to curry favour with John, but the King dismissed Dursley as if he was a very annoying fly and could not have cared less what the man wanted or didn't want.

"But, sire," persisted Dursley. "It is most unusual; surely privacy is required for the couple?"

Beside him, Harriet stiffened as she heard her uncle's words and understood what they meant for their wedding night.

"No," said Harriet in the strongest voice Severus had yet heard her use. "No, I won't allow it," she said louder now and the King turned to her, his lips faking a smile.

"I am the King!" John thundered. "It is what I say that matters, not you, young lady."

"I don't care who you are," said Harriet and Severus had to admit he was pleasantly surprised at his bride's defiant spirit. Oh, how many times had he wished he'd had the courage to stand up to John and all his priests and bishops? "There will be no bedding if we are not given privacy."

"How dare you speak to me thus!" spluttered John. "I will cut you down where you stand! Alfred, my sword!"

A soldier in chainmail stepped forward and handed John a sword so encrusted with jewels, it was a wonder he was able to wield it at all. He raised the sword in the air; Severus stepped between him and his new bride. He had no sword, he never would have a sword again and he was quite ready to die today, prepared to give his life for someone he'd met only a few hours ago. It still wouldn't be enough to redeem him, but better he got sent to Hell today than watch the King strike down an unarmed girl.

"Step aside, Snape!" roared John, bellowing like a bull.

"I will not."

"My Lord King," began the bishop. "I must insist you put away your sword. This is the bedding chamber and the only blood that should be spilled tonight is the blood of the bride's maidenhead. If the bride does not wish for the ceremony to be witnessed, then we should respect that."

"I am the King!"

"I am well aware of that, your grace," said the bishop. "But I serve the King of Kings also and it is the couple's right to have privacy if they wish it."

"It is the couple's choice," said the bishop again. John blustered some more, but the bishop would not be swayed in his decision.

"Thank you, your grace," said Severus as he took in his new bride's face, heavily flushed with indignation and anger. It was a good look for her.

"Please disperse," said the bishop as he led everyone away and Severus and Harriet could finally retire to the bedchamber.

The four posts of the bed were draped with flowers and greenery, the embroidered coverlet had been pulled down to the foot of the bed so that the linen sheet underneath was visible. Harriet blanched almost as white as the sheet as soon as she saw it. On a small side table a bowl of fruit was set out, along with a jug of wine and two pewter goblets. There was a small paring knife next to the fruit bowl.

"My lord - I - I -” Harriet began, but she did not seem able to finish.

"Please, you do not have to address me so formally. My name is Severus and do not worry so, Harriet, I have no intention of bedding you this evening." So saying, Severus poured out two goblets of the red wine and handed the first one to his wife. "My desires have never run that way."

"They told you?" she asked curiously. "They told you of my - unnaturalness?"

"I do not know what you mean, Harriet. They told me nothing except that I was to marry, despite everyone and his dog knowing that I have always desired the company of men."

"A lot of men do not confide in their wives," agreed Harriet.

Was the girl really so naive? "I do not mean to confide in, Harriet. I mean I desire men. I desire their bodies in my bed. Like other men desire women."

"What is it you desire about them, my l- Severus?" she amended, sounding very curious.

Severus was surprised at the question; he'd never had anyone actually ask him outright before and he realised it would be nice to unburden himself to someone who wouldn't judge him, but who just might listen. "Do you mean to mock me, Harriet? Will you go running to the women to gossip about how terrible a husband I am that I cannot even get it up for you?"

"No! Never! What is spoken between the two of us is sacred, we made vows," she replied and Harriet sounded as if she sincerely believed that. "I would just like to know, husband, but if you do not wish to speak of it, I will respect that too."

Severus was surprised; this girl he barely knew seemed to have more respect for him than all the soldiers he'd ever served with. "Very well, Harriet. Drink your wine and come and sit beside me on the bed." So saying, Severus drained the last of his goblet and settled himself against the headboard. Harriet didn't finish her wine, she just set the goblet down and arranged herself next to her husband, making sure that her skirts hid her ankles, but her stockinged feet peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown.

***

"I was never much in the company of women," began Severus, his husband.

His husband! He had a husband and Harry could scarcely believe that he was sitting here on his wedding night with his husband about to discuss the merits of men with him.

"My mother died when I was very young, I barely remembered her," Severus continued. "I had a nurse for a short while, but she died too and my father ranted that women were too fragile to bring up his son. He banished every woman and girl from the castle and only hired male servants. There were lots of soldiers about, too, and I was constantly watching them practice at archery, swordplay or lancing at the tilts. Even from an early age I admired those men, their strength, their muscles, the fine planes of their chests. I loved summers when they would practice without their shirts, for without any women to placate they did not need to be modest."

Harry was feeling very strange on hearing Severus speak of those men, of their muscles and their sweat. He had a strange feeling in his chest and stomach, and lower still. It had happened again. His prick was rising and swelling, much more of this and it would tent his gown. Harry turned away, trying to hide.

"Harriet? Wife? What ails you? Do you not wish me to speak of it? I will desist if it disturbs you so."

Harry shook his head, it didn't disturb him – far from it and that's what worried him. He shouldn't be feeling anything; he just had to do his duty. That male part of him was aching, as if it wanted to be touched but he had never touched himself there except for when he needed the privy or when he bathed. For a moment he imagined his husband, Severus, stroking him there, those rough hands wrapped around the length and he felt his face heat. Severus would never want to touch him; he was too much of a freak.

Harry lay back against the pillows and rested his hand along his brow. Maybe he'd had too much wine at the feast, his head was spinning and it felt as though he could barely draw breath. He'd forgotten that by lying down on his back like this, his husband would see his gown tented out but there was nothing to do about it now. Severus had already seen and he was gazing at Harry with those dark eyes as if he'd never seen him before. He smiled and it made him seem years younger.

"Harriet? This is what you were afraid to tell me?" he glanced quickly at the evidence tenting the dress. "You're a boy?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "I'm both, after a fashion, but my male sex is more prominent. And please can you call me Harry? I have always felt I was a boy, never a girl, despite my aunt making me wear skirts ever since I was an infant."

"So you feel desire like a male?" asked Severus.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, husband."

Severus smiled at him again. "Like now, that part of you gets hard so you want to touch it to bring yourself release. All boys and men do it if they do not have a partner, but it can be enjoyable to share the pleasure with a partner too."

"I - I have never done that, husband. Can you - can you teach me?"

"Oh, Harry," groaned Severus as he leant over him and devoured his mouth in a kiss. "I have so much to teach you, but not tonight. I would prefer it once we were back at my manor and we can have all the privacy we need."

"But the sheet? What about the sheet? They'll come for it in the morning. We will have been expected to have done something," said Harry, although he was a little vague on the details. He'd watched some of the animals mating and even spied on the serving girls and their beaux sometimes, but for Harry, there was nowhere for a prick to go, was there?

Severus sighed. "I have no wish to shame you in front of your family," he said, reaching for the paring knife. His hand was trembling as he held it.

"I do not think they would care. They do not care for me, they never have. They would care about the shame, yes, but not for the effect it might have on me." Harry winced as another pain shot up his arm.

Severus dropped the knife on the bed between them. "You are hurt? I have some potions in my trunk," he said as he scrambled off the bed to rummage in it. He handed a small glass vial to Harry. "Two drops should do it."

Harry uncorked the vial and dripped two drops onto his tongue; it tasted almost as bad as one of Dame Poppy's concoctions but it worked a lot faster. "Thank you, Severus," said Harry, smiling up at his new husband.

Severus picked up the small knife again and rolled up his sleeve. "What are you doing?" asked Harry as he saw Severus draw the knife against his left forearm.

"I swore never to hold a knife again, Harry, but I have to do this. For you. They want to continue with this barbaric custom, well, we'll show them a bloodied sheet!"

Harry shrank back against the headboard as Severus slashed his arm in a frenzy. He sobbed and cried, begging Severus to stop hurting himself like that. It was a few moments before Severus seemed satisfied with his handiwork.

There was a pool of blood on the sheets beneath them and Severus trembled and swayed, as if he was faint. Harry hurried to give him a goblet of wine, which Severus drank in one gulp, handing him the goblet for more. He drank the second one down and then leaned heavily against Harry. Harry removed his gown and ripped a strip of fabric from the shift beneath it to clean the blood and try to staunch the wound.

"Do you have a potion for this too, husband?"

"In my trunk, blue vial," said Severus, sounding a little breathless. Harry got him settled against the headboard and went to fetch the vial. Severus drank down the whole bottle and was almost instantly asleep. In the dim light from the candles, Harry was sure he could almost make out a design on the cuts on his husband's arm. It almost looked like a skull.

***

 

Chapter Five

 

Harry slept fitfully; he'd never shared a bed before and was surprised by how different it was to sleeping on his own. Not only were there someone else’s small movements to contend with, there were also the noises: little sniffles and snuffles as Severus slept. Nothing quite as heavy as a snore, but it still disturbed Harry who'd been so used to peace and quiet.

As the early morning sunlight filtered through the shutters which hadn't been completely latched last night, Harry got up and dressed again in his rumpled gown. None of his clothes were in this room and if truth be told he felt like setting fire to every dress his aunt had made him wear over the years. He wanted to wear breeches and shirts, tunics and boots, not the dainty court shoes his aunt had insisted on.

Severus woke up shortly after Harry had left the bed. They managed to get his tunic back on so that the wound on his arm wasn't visible and Harry hid the bloodied strip of cloth in Severus' trunk. When his aunt and her ladies entered the room a few moments later, Petunia gave Harry a very strange look when she saw the bloodstained sheet.

"I'll take it to the Hall, my lady," said Ailith with a curtsey as she stripped the bed.

"Congratulations, Harriet," said Martha with a smirk. "It seems you are a woman at last."

Harry glared at her as the rest of them hurried out and he was left alone with Severus once more.

"I haven't been back to Snape Manor for quite some time, Harry, and there haven't been servants employed there for years. I was not allowed to get it fixed before we married. I'm afraid it isn't really in a fit state to receive my new husband. There is a small cottage in the grounds, it isn't half as grand as what you're used to, but if you can put up with it for a few months while the Manor can be finished, we can live there for a while."

"Severus, it sounds wonderful." It was a lot grander than what Harry was used to; he'd slept in the cellar below the kitchens except when his godfather had come to visit and then he'd had to pretend that he slept in one of the family bedchambers. A cottage of his own to share with Severus was more than he ever hoped for. He'd thought for sure he'd end his days as a slave to the Dursleys, unable to escape the drudgery and the beatings.

"Come, we shall break our fast and then we shall be on our way. I cannot wait to have you all to myself," grinned Severus as he placed a soft kiss on Harry's lips. Harry felt himself blush and he had to admit that he was looking forward to all that Severus could teach him about his body. No one here had told him and they never would, as they kept insisting he wasn't a boy.

As the newly-wedded couple, Severus and Harry were shown to the head of the table, usurping Petunia and Vernon's usual places. Behind them like some sort of barbaric tapestry was the bloodied sheet that had been on their bed. Harry felt a little ill when he caught a glimpse of it, remembering Severus' frenzied cutting the night before. "Husband, how are you feeling?" Harry asked in a whisper.

"Very well, thank you _wife_ ," Severus winked at him and a few of the people nearby guffawed at what they considered some ribald teasing between the two newlyweds.

Harry could hardly wait to get out of here. He wanted to be gone, away from his relatives and this entire village. Most of them hated him and always had, blaming him for things that he had no control over. As if he could control the weather and the crops just because he had been born with some sort of deformity!

Severus must have noticed how tense Harry was becoming; he squeezed Harry's hand and pressed a soft kiss on his wrist. "We will leave soon," he promised.

The King was seated on the other side of Severus and sneered at the gesture. "I never took you for a courtier, Severus. Are you sure you and your bride do not wish an escort back to Yorkshire?"

"Thank you for the most generous offer, your grace, but I am perfectly capable of looking after my own."

One of the soldiers laughed and whispered something to his neighbour. "This from a man who hasn't taken up a sword in years!"

Harry heard it and glared at the two of them. Severus was brave and having a sword did not mean that you were better able to defend someone. Harry wasn't helpless, even though it sometimes felt like that; but the problem was that no one took him on one against one. It was always four or more of the village children attacking him, and Vernon or Petunia always tied him up before they got to work on his whippings and beatings for they knew how hard he could kick when he fought back.

Harry finished the last of his bread and nodded at Severus. He was ready to leave and from Severus' looks, so was he. There was nothing for Harry here at Dursley, there never had been. Severus ordered one of the servants to fetch his horse and the man hastened away.

As Harry stood up, Sirius gave him a great hug and told him he wanted an invitation to Snape Manor as soon as it was fit to receive guests again. Harry promised, but at the moment he was quite looking forward to spending time alone with Severus. Not as an earl who had a manor to run, but as a man and his husband without servants and guests disturbing their privacy.

As they left the Hall, none of Harry's relatives said goodbye and he refused to admit to himself how much that hurt.

He followed Severus to the stables, where a great, black stallion was waiting for them. The horse's coat shone like black silk.

"Harry, meet Hercules," said Severus as he patted the animal's muzzle.

Harry had never seen a horse so tall before; how on earth were you supposed to get up to ride it? Almost as soon as he thought it, Severus lifted Harry up and settled him astride the saddle. Harry gripped the pommel, afraid of falling off. Harry's gown had ridden up his legs and he wished for breeches, or at least something more practical than a gown.

The stable boy leered at Harry's legs and Severus gave him a clip 'round the ear. "I'd thank you not to look that way at my wife."

"Sorry, my lord," said the boy as he wandered off.

"You didn't have to hit him," said Harry.

Severus climbed up behind Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "Only I will ever get to touch you or look at you like that, my dearest Harry. I'm sorry if I lost my temper, but you are mine and only mine."

A few moments later, they were riding out of the bailey and away from Dursley. Harry felt as if he could breathe freely for the first time in years.

They rode for a couple of hours and Severus stopped by a river to give the horse a rest. Harry was just grateful to be out of the saddle. He'd never ridden before and his arse and thighs were burning from the pressure. He winced as Severus set him down on the ground again.

"I have some salve for that," said Severus as he rummaged in the saddle bags. "And I thought you might like to get out of those clothes."

Severus tossed him a plain linen shirt, a pair of leather breeches and jerkin as well as some fresh underlinens. Harry had been so keen to get out of that castle that he was still wearing his wedding clothes and the torn shift.

"We can bathe in the river," said Severus.

"Together?" asked Harry, his heart hammering a strange tune against his ribs. He would get to see a fully-naked man.

"Only if you wish to, Harry. Or we can take turns and you can have some privacy if you prefer it."

"I would like to bathe with you, Severus, I am just a little nervous. I - I am somewhat scarred."

"We both are," said Severus, nodding. "I will bathe each and every scar and kiss them so that you will remember them with fondness and not with pain. Would you like that?"

Harry nodded, he felt as though he might swoon at the man's words. He lay the clean clothes down on the ground and moved towards Severus, looking up at him. The man had such intense eyes, so deep, so black.

Severus moved the short distance between them and swooped down to claim Harry's lips in a passionate kiss. Harry kissed back just as fervently. This was nothing like the few small kisses they'd shared already. This was heat and ice, a claiming, and Harry moaned into his husband's mouth. He didn't want it to end. He could kiss this man forever.

Severus' tongue played along his bottom lip and as Harry opened his mouth, Severus' tongue was thrust into his mouth as the man pressed Harry hard against him. The tongue was so big, so hot and wet as it searched Harry's mouth and he felt himself sway on his feet. He could hardly breathe, he pulled away from the kiss, moaning as he felt the passion rise; his prick pressing against Severus' thigh. "Show me, husband. Show me how to love you," gasped Harry as he held his hands above his head, ready for Severus to undress him.

"God's teeth!" groaned Severus as he kissed Harry once again.

Harry allowed himself to melt into the kiss. Severus' lips were so soft. He'd never been kissed like this before, as was usual before marriage, but he wanted to keep kissing, keep tasting the man above him. It was a man, there was no doubt about that and Harry groaned when he felt all that muscle, that firmness pressing against him. He'd never allowed himself to look before, to linger over broad chests and wonder what they would feel like, but he was married now, he could do more than look, it was expected of him. Of both of them.

Severus pulled away, panting for breath and Harry let out a small whimper. Something strange was happening to him, he had never felt like this before, as if he was as hot as a fire blazing in the hearth. Blood was pounding throughout his body, he could feel every pulse, but most especially _there_ , where he was hard and aching.

"Please, husband," he begged and held his arms up above his head again.

***

Severus had never been so hard in his life, not even his times with Richard could compare with the young man in his arms at the moment. The scent, the _male_ scent of him was intoxicating and the hardness pressing against his thigh belonged to no woman. When Harry lifted his arms up and begged in that voice, he was completely lost. He had to have the boy _now_.

Severus growled and yanked the gown and shift off in one deft move; revealing a pale chest, a flat chest with no hint of breasts whatsoever. He suckled on Harry's neck, where the shoulder just about started and he could almost feel the boy melt against him as sensations overwhelmed him. New sensations, Severus was almost sure. If Harry had been brought up as a girl, there was no way his relatives would have allowed him to be unchaperoned. No way he could have played with the other boys, to see what might feel good.

Severus used his hands to skim down Harry's chest, tweaking the nipples as he went. Harry cried out, arching his body and Severus felt the warm wetness seep through the boy's underlinens as he came and came, unable to bear the onslaught much longer.

"Severus, husband," Harry gasped. "I've never - I've never felt like that before."

Severus pressed a long, hard kiss on Harry's shoulder. It might bruise later, but Severus was rather hoping it would. He kissed Harry on the mouth, stealing the boy's moans as he squirmed to get even closer to him. Severus had never felt so _wanted_ in all his life. This boy desired him. His spouse desired him and oh, wasn't it ironic that John's punishment had really turned out so pleasurable?

"Oh, it gets better, Harry. I can assure you."

Severus pushed Harry down to the grass so that he was lying flat and proceeded to tug down the loincloth covering his genitals. As he had expected, once the modesty of the garment was gone, Harry held his hands over his groin as if ashamed to be seen there. Severus kissed him and pushed Harry's hands back onto the grass above Harry's head.

"No, Harry, I want to see you. I want to see all of you. Will you let me?"

Harry nodded and removed his hands, settling them on riverbank. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with the effort. Maybe due to his condition, he had no chest hair, or even the beginnings of whiskers on his chin, but there was a small nest of dark curls by his groin. His prick stood almost vertical from his body and it was trembling a little as Severus watched. A few drops of white still clung to it from Harry's earlier climax and Severus so wanted to taste it.

He moaned and lowered his head, bending to lick the spent seed from the tip of Harry's cock. Harry arched his hips and cried out in pleasure as Severus continued to lick like a cat lapping at a bowl of milk, but no milk had ever tasted as good as Harry's essence.

Severus took almost half the length in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, Harry's cries almost driving him to distraction. The boy was wild, bucking and squirming on the grass, mewling and screaming as Severus pleasured him. Severus held his hips and slowed down his movements, wanting Harry to experience the pleasure for as long as possible. His own prick was pressing uncomfortably against his breeches, but he didn't want to scare Harry with too much at once.

"Severus! Oh, Severus!" Harry arched his hips, his hands tangling almost unconsciously in Severus' hair, as if afraid Severus would leave him feeling frustrated.

Severus thought he'd teased his new husband long enough. He began to suck harder, holding Harry's hips and the boy thrust his cock frantically into Severus' mouth and a few moments later Severus was rewarded with the gift of his husband's warm seed straight from the source.

Severus suckled on Harry's cock until it softened completely. Harry's thighs were trembling and when Severus finally released him, he noticed that Harry was crying.

"Harry? What ails you, my love? Did I hurt you?"

"No, Severus, no," he sobbed, opening his arms. Severus slid up his husband's body and kissed his cheek. "You didn't hurt me, Severus. No one has ever loved me like you have. I don't really know you but I know I love you."

Severus cradled the boy in his arms and let him cry. Harry loved him. Harry desired him and loved him. Severus didn't know for sure, but he suspected that the scars Harry spoke of had been inflicted by the boy's relatives. He had sensed no love from them for Harry. Harry had probably grown up ridiculed and rejected because of an accident of birth, something he was not to blame for.

"Let us bathe and then I can put that salve on you, Harry. We could camp out tonight, I don't think we are going to make it back to the manor before dark," suggested Severus once Harry's tears had eased.

"I would love to sleep under the stars with you, Severus," said Harry as he sat up and began to undo the laces holding Severus' shirt closed. Harry glanced worriedly at him. "Is this all right, husband? I have never undressed a man before."

"It is perfect, Harry, just like that." The boy blushed and Severus felt his prick become even harder at the sight. This boy was his. His to teach in the ways of pleasure and Severus was so looking forward to the teaching. He had never been with someone so innocent before and his cock ached with want at Harry's fumbling touches as he tried to undress Severus.

With the shirt now discarded, Harry set to work on the fastening of his breeches, his dainty hands sending Severus into paroxysms of pleasure. The boy hadn't got one of the laces untied before Severus was crying out and spending himself in his clothes. They'd been teasing each other for too long and he gasped and shuddered against his new husband.

"Severus? Are you all right?" asked Harry, taking his hands away completely.

"I am fine, Harry. I just found release rather quicker than I was expecting. Come, let's get our bath."

Severus undressed himself the rest of the way and ran with abandon to the river. Harry followed shyly a few moments later, his hands still hovering precariously close to his groin as he slid underneath the water, gasping at the chill.

Severus swam towards him and did as he had promised; he kissed every scar, every angry mark on Harry's body until the boy was sighing with pleasure and he was hard again. Oh, the wonderful recuperation of youth! Severus took Harry's length in his fist and stroked the boy softly at first until he was squirming and panting with unfulfilled need. His whole body was covered in a red blush as he sought his peak. They kissed frantically and Severus trailed his other hand down Harry's back to caress his buttocks. Harry didn't object, in fact his kissing seemed to increase in intensity as Severus continued to caress and stroke the smooth skin of Harry's bottom. Harry slipped on the river bed as the first spasms tore through him, but Severus was able to hold him through it as he milked his husband of every last drop.

Severus kissed him slowly, still caressing his prick, loving the taste of him, the smell of his spilled seed. Harry shivered and the sun was much lower in the sky now. Severus carried Harry out and laid him down on the grass before grabbing the towels from his saddle bags. Harry dried himself briskly before dressing in the male clothes Severus had given him.

Harry's eyes widened as he put on the linen clouts and the doeskin breeches. "Oh, they're so soft!"

"Only the best for my husband," smiled Severus, feeling such wonder at Harry's innocence, not just with the pleasures of the flesh, but with everything worldly it seemed.

Severus got dried and dressed and watched with amusement as Harry tried to braid his long hair. He grunted with frustration and flung the dark locks over his shoulder.

"Allow me?" asked Severus as he knelt behind him and took Harry's hair in his hands.

***

Harry felt his bones melting as Severus carded his fingers through his hair and began to braid the strands together. Severus was even gentler than Ailith and he wondered if Severus would tend his hair every night or if Severus would prefer him to cut it, to look more like a boy. He sighed and sank back against Severus' broad chest.

Harry had never felt like this, even after those dreams that left him with sticky sheets. His whole body felt as if it was singing and he felt as if he could fly all the way up to the sky. Once Harry's hair was finished, both of them gathered some firewood and stones to prepare a fire. Harry watched with enamoured fascination as his husband bent down to gather a few dry branches and his shirt rode up on his back a little. Harry wanted to lick that small patch of skin and hear his husband moan again.

Severus had such a lovely voice, deep and gravelly and it made Harry's blood melt every time he heard it. He blushed in the darkness, surely he couldn't be quickening again? His prick did give a little twitch, but Harry was completely spent thanks to his husband's talented hands and tongue earlier and he did not harden any further.

Severus lit the campfire and both of them sat round it, staring at the flames and at each other. Harry still felt a little shy despite what they'd done, so he was glad when Severus suggested Harry sit on his lap. It meant he wouldn't have to meet his husband's eyes so much. Harry hung his head on Severus' shoulder and watched the firelight dancing in its stone circle.

Severus stroked Harry's side and his back, sometimes moving his hands to caress Harry's face as well.

"Your skin is so soft, so smooth," Severus whispered. "Like the velvet from a stag's antlers. You have never shaved?"

"No, Severus. Dame Poppy, the midwife from the village, says I probably would never need to because of what a freak I am."

Harry felt Severus stiffen underneath him. "Never, never let me hear you calling yourself a freak again, Harry. That life is over. I love you and I will cherish you until the day we die. You are not a freak."

Harry found that hard to believe, after all he'd been told all his life that he was a freak. Was it so surprising that he believed it? It was almost as if Severus could read his mind when he spoke again.

"I don't care what those ignorant villagers or your relatives called you, Harry. You are not a freak. You are a gift."

"A gift?" asked Harry, turning round to see the firelight reflected in his husband's eyes.

"Yes, while I was away with King Richard, we went to many strange lands. Strange to me, I had never been out of England before that. In some places, there are people like you – boy and girl both and they are venerated as gifts from God, or whatever deity the locals worship. They are treated as sacred people."

"Sacred people? Like priests?"

"More like saints," said Severus. "You are so special, Harry. Far more special than any of those people who called you names and made your life one of pain when it should have been one of joy. Your scars, they happened as you were growing up, didn't they?"

"They did, Severus, but please, I don't want to talk about that. I want to forget that life. My life began when I married you."

"As did mine, Harry. As did mine."

Severus leaned over and kissed Harry softly; a vow, a promise for their new life together.

THE END


End file.
